again. “I remember Junior Adams passing me a jar of moonshine. I remember it burned like fire going down.” I stop and think. “I don’t remember much after that.”
“Junior Adams’s grandpappy makes some strong shine,” she says. “I got some in the cabinet. You know, for when I get down with the cough.”
“Mm hmm,” I hum. Everybody in Macon Hills knows Ms. Markie tips back some shine, and she doesn’t require a sore throat or cough to give her a reason. But it’s her lie; she can tell it any way she wants.
“So, Junior gave you some shine. Then what happened?” She opens a cabinet and takes out a bottle of pain relievers, and if I didn’t feel like I might hurl my guts up any second, I might have to kiss her. Instead, I take them when she presses them into my hand, and I turn around, turn on the sink, and stick my face under the water, getting a mouthful of water from the running stream, washing the pills down.
There are two problems with turning around and drinking form Ms. Markie’s sink. Firstly, Ms. Markie is a fan of people using cups. And secondly, Ms. Markie now has a perfect view of my backside. And as my backside is currently still naked, it hurts like a son of a gun when she whacks me with her fly swatter.
I jump and spin around. “What did you do that for?” I say, rubbing the offended area. “That hurt.”
“Get a glass,” she says.
She sits down at the kitchen table. She kicks a chair out across from her and tosses a folded piece of newspaper into it. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me to read it, so I sit my naked ass down on it. I tug the ends of the apron lower, knowing Ms. Markie had seen me in all my glory just moments ago, but still wanting to maintain the shred of dignity I have left. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? My dignity up and left me laying in the azalea bushes.
“I should probably go put some clothes on, Ms. Markie,” I say.
“Probably should,” she says, as she looks over edge of her reading glasses at me, and then glances back down at the crossword puzzle she’s working. “Give me a six letter word for ridiculous.”
I search the recesses of my brain and spit out a word. “Absurd.”
Ms. Markie smiles at me. “Thank you. Been looking for that one all week.”
When I was here earlier this week cutting Ms. Markie’s grass, she’d been looking for a different one.
“Finished that puzzle already,” she says.
“Stop reading my mind,” I mutter. I reach for a biscuit. There’s a heaping plate of them in the center of Ms. Markie’s kitchen table. She slaps my hand. I jerk my offended fingers back.
“Don’t touch my biscuits until you’ve washed your hands. I know where they’ve been.” She glares at me again over her glasses.
“Where have they been?” I ask.
I wish someone would tell me, because I still have no idea how I ended up in Ms. Markie’s azalea buses.
“They’ve been all over my granddaughter,” she says, and she takes her glasses off so she can glare cleanly at me.
I choke into my fist. “What?” I ask, when I can finally breathe. Everybody knows that Ms. Markie’s granddaughter, Evelyn, is in town. She arrived two days ago. “Evelyn’s here,” I whisper.
And suddenly, the whole night floods back to me in one great big rush.
I reach down and run my fingertips over the sore spot on the front side of my hips. “I was with Evelyn all night.”
Ms. Markie grins at me. “Yep.”
“I was with your granddaughter.”
“Yep.” She grins so big I fear her teeth will fall out. The last time that happened, they skidded under the fridge and I had to move the whole damn kitchen around to get them back.
“I got matching tattoos with Evelyn.”
“What?” The whispered word comes from the doorway. I look up and find Evelyn standing there. Her dark hair is a twisted mess, like she’s been riding in my jeep with the top off.
“You rode in my jeep with the top off,” I say.
“What?” she whispers again. She clears her throat. “I have never ridden in a jeep in my life. And I surely wouldn’t have gotten in one with someone like you.” Her gaze drags from my naked chest to my naked thighs, her cheeks growing rosy. “Why are you wearing Grandma’s apron?” She covers her eyes. “Oh, God!